“I can’t see it,” he said finally.
“Turn around,” she instructed. Both stood and while water ran from their bodies in soapy rivulets, she gently ran fingers over the scabs. “What’d you do?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve felt something, but didn’t know what it was.”
Amanda examined the strange markings, realizing with a start that they were uniformly scored. Her brow knit in confusion until she glanced at her own fingernails while tracing their pattern. She drew in her breath so suddenly that Reagan twirled in concern, finding himself staring into her furious eyes. “You-you-bastard!” she spat, color draining from her face. “You were with another woman!” Amanda stumbled from the tub, splashing great quantities of water.
Reagan was confounded. “What are you talking about? I’ve not been with another woman!” He stepped out as Amanda grabbed a towel.
“Get away!” she sobbed. “Don’t touch me!” She ran to the bedroom with Reagan close behind.
“Amanda!” he stormed. “Listen to me!” He yanked her against his chest. “I was not with another woman…”
Tears fell as she glared at him. “All those nights at the hotel,” she gasped. “How could I have been so stupid?”
Reagan’s face became livid. “Dammit woman, you must listen to me!” He gave her a shake, causing her towel to fall. “If I’d been with a woman who raked me, do you think I’d be so lacking in judgment that I’d have you wash my back?”
“How else could you have received those marks? Tis pretty obvious to me what they are! If not that,” her lips curled with rage, “then what, pray tell, gave you those scratches?”
Reagan stared, looking uncertain. “I don’t know,” he sighed, bending to retrieve her towel. “I can’t say why I’m marked. I only know that while I stayed at the Rochester, I consumed a fair amount of alcohol. Perhaps in my sottish state, I scraped myself.”
“I don’t know either,” she said, gripping her towel. “I only know I have a right to be suspicious when you can’t explain such a condition.”
“Amanda…”
“What else can it be?” she asked, searching his face.
Reagan’s shoulders drooped. “I have no explanation. But I ask you to believe that I’ve not betrayed you.”
Amanda felt more conflicted than ever. She wanted to trust him, yet her mind screamed this was just another example of Reagan playing her false. “I need time to think…”
Seeing her shiver, Reagan took her arm. “If we’re going to drip dry, then let’s do it on the tile where it can be wiped up.” Leading her back to the bath, he folded another towel and placed it on the tub’s edge. “Sit here,” he said.
Amanda watched Reagan wipe the floor, seemingly unperturbed he was parading naked before her. Her eyes were drawn to his back, then lower, to his exposed flanks as she recalled the feel of him when they made love. She felt anguish that another woman had received that which should’ve been hers alone. But, to whom did she truly belong? Averting her eyes, Amanda finally dried herself.
“I need to get dressed before Lela returns,” she said, tossing the towel she had been sitting on. “Cover yourself before she sees you.”
Reagan caught the towel before it hit his face. “Clearly, the sight is offensive to you, as well,” he said, scowling darkly.
Amanda adjusted her towel. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I simply don’t wish to shock the poor girl.”
“You don’t have to worry, madam,” Reagan said as he retrieved his clothes. “I locked the bedroom door.”
The pain in his eyes caused Amanda a shard of remorse. She tried thinking of him as anything other than a womanizing scoundrel. “Could you have fallen somehow while drunk?” she asked hopefully.
“It’s unlikely we’ll ever know.” Reagan pulled on his trousers then tucked his shirt. “Unless my recollections become clearer, I don’t see how I can shed any more light on the subject.”
When Lela brought the breakfast tray they both appeared composed. Yet, they had more on their minds than the meal. Each felt something warm and wonderful had been snatched from their grasp just when they thought they had found it.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
“What’s yer pleasure, Mister?” Molly sidled up to a soldier at the bar. “Would you be wantin’ company?”
The man barely looked at her before lifting his shot glass. “It’s a free country,” he said. “For most, anyways.”
Molly looked admiringly at the sky-blue trousers and dark jacket. Though most soldiers frequenting the saloon were poor, ill-kept lads, this one had an air of authority. And despite having an arm in a sling, his body seemed sturdily robust.
“What’s that?” She pointed at half-chevrons on his sleeve. “Look’s like snakes with wings.” Her eyes grew wide. “Are you a snake charmer?” She smiled in what she hoped was an alluring manner. “You look like a charmer to me.”
The soldier gave a brief snort. “No.” He swirled the liquor before taking another sip.
Molly frowned at her inability to snare the man’s interest. Usually, she could entice a lad to her room where, if the alcohol didn’t besot him, a few drops of chloral hydrate would do the job nicely. She’d then go through his pockets before Orville dumped him in the back alley. Later, he’d awaken with a splitting headache and no memory of where he’d lost his money.
“Let’s get a better look at you.” She reached over and removed his cap, exposing wavy hair and blue eyes that finally looked her way. “Lookee there,” she said, smiling. “Ain’t you a handsome Yank!” She playfully held the cap away when he tried retrieving it, placing it on her head. “Not so fast, soldier. I want to try it on.”
Pulling the cap low, she sashayed before him, giving a view of her tight-fitting frock. The soldier’s eyes wandered down her body, stopping briefly where bodice and waist met, then lower, to where her calves were exposed by the shortened hem. “When you’re finished,” he said patiently, “I’d appreciate if you’d return my hat.”
“You got a name, soldier?” Molly asked, raising her chin.
The soldier seemed to consider her request. “Warrant Officer Miles Alexander.”
Drawing near, she exaggerated a pout, dropping her eyes to his bandaged arm. “You ain’t gonna be needing this ol’ cap anytime soon, Warrant Officer Miles Alexander.” She pretended to straighten his collar while looking into his eyes. “Why don’t you buy me a drink, and then perhaps I’ll allow you to escort me to my room?”
Molly licked her lips, thinking she’d soon have a wad of money to give Orville. Of late, he had begun demanding more cash than she could earn. He explained that it was too risky to contact his associates. Once it was safe, he promised to have a large draw with which to repay her. “I’d be very careful of yer wound,” she crooned while rubbing his jaw. “It wouldn’t be a bother, t’all.”
“Aren’t you concerned about hurting the baby?”
The unexpected disclosure had the effect of throwing cold water in her face. She looked stunned. “H-how’d you know?”
Miles stepped back before retrieving his hat. “Because, madam, I’m Doctor Miles Alexander.”
Molly’s hands instinctively covered her belly. “I-I didn’t think anyone would notice,” she whispered.
“Surely, you knew it could be a…hazard…to your occupation,” he said, his eyes not unkind.
“Yes, but…” Molly bit her lip as she realized others would soon recognize her condition. “…I can’t let anyone know…yet…” She cast a worried look up the stairs where a dapperly dressed gentleman leaned against a post. Chewing on a toothpick, the man surveyed the bar before his eyes came to rest on Molly.
She looked beseechingly at the doctor before forcing a smile. “Look, I can still give you a real good time!” She grabbed his hand and tried pulling him toward the stairs. “I know you soldiers are away from home and-and lonely. I-I could just spend some time talkin’ or some such, ‘bout yer loved ones.”
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Miles glanced at the man on the landing before withdrawing his hand. “Look ma’am, I’m on leave because I haven’t the full use of my hand. I’m not looking to be permanently disabled by getting my head bashed in.” Molly stepped back, her mouth gaping before she turned and fled upstairs. Miles continued to watch until the man pulled her into a room.
Repositioning his cap, Miles motioned for another whiskey. While attending the wounded on the battlefield, a bullet had shattered his hand. Now, he could barely flex his fingers. Despite the disabling wound, he felt determined to regain the use of his hand so he could return to his regiment. He didn’t have time for harlots, thieves or scoundrels.
***
“What do you mean he knew what you were about?” Derrick shoved Molly into the room before slamming the door. “All you have to do is get them up here!” he said, moving toward her. “I don’t care what you promise them! That soldier was a good mark. He was worth at least fifty dollars!”
Molly shrank against the bed. “I-I don’t know how, but-but he acted as if he knew I was goin’ to rob him.”
She shielded her face as Derrick shook her. “What’d you say to him?”
“Nothin’!” she screeched. “I didn’t tell him nuthin’!”
Holding her, Derrick cuffed a cheek then pulled back to slap her again. “Dammit woman, I need that money!”
“Not my face! I cain’t get men, when you bruise me!”
Derrick threw her against the mattress. “Look at you!” he bellowed in disgust. “Why don’t you wear that red gown? It’ll snatch a man’s eye faster than that old rag!”
“Cain’t fit into it anymore,” she sniffed, rubbing her cheek.
“Can’t fit into it?” His gaze traveled her body, stopping at the slight swell in her abdomen. When she shielded the protrusion with her hands, Derrick raised accusing eyes. “So, you got yourself a brat. Who’s the bastard’s father?”
“Since you came back, I ain’t been with no other,” Molly said. “You’ve been here most every night.”
“Not every night,” he corrected.
He paced the floor, rubbing his chin. Finally, he stopped. “My dear, we’re going to find a pappy for your babe,” he said.
“But, you’re the father,” she said warily. “I counted from my last monthly, and figured it ‘bout the time you returned.”
Derrick shook his head. “No, the father of your baby is a rich man. One who’ll provide for you without question.”
Molly dabbed her eyes with the sheet. “I weren’t really with any rich men, like I said before. The girls told me about those who’d pay extra, if I was willin’ to let them do anything they wanted. That way, I wouldn’t have to spend as much time with the lumber slingers. But, that was before you…” she smiled hesitantly. “When you came back, I only did what you told me. I haven’t had enough to buy clothes because you needed the money.” She sniffed, looking forlornly at the new suit the man she knew as Orville, wore. He always had enough to dress well, while she had to make do with clothes that would soon be too small.
Derrick allowed his face to soften as he withdrew his wallet. “What you’re going to do is tell everybody you’ve been meeting privately with a rich gentleman.” He removed several bills, throwing them onto the bed. “Here, go buy yourself a dress that fits and a fancy ring.” He smiled. “I’ve been neglecting my dove for too long.”
Molly gathered the money, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “I’ll buy the prettiest dress in the shop!”
“And everything that goes with it,” he said, tossing another bill. “A hat and parasol. You must look your best.”
Molly got up from the bed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, Orville, thank you. I knew you weren’t really mad at me.”
Derrick ran his hands over her backside, pressing her to him. “Well now,” he crooned, his eyes hardening. “Since we’re here all by ourselves, why don’t you show me how grateful you really are?”
She wavered uneasily. “If’n you’re no longer annoyed ‘bout that soldier. She paused before continuing, “Sometimes when you’re upset, you get a little rough.” She looked into his face. “You ain’t still mad, are you?”
“Why, no, of course not.” Derrick’s eyes glinted. “But since this dress is really too small, there’s no sense in saving it.” With a sudden, downward motion he seized the bodice and ripped the dress.
Molly inhaled sharply, her fears confirmed as she tried breaking free of his grasp. “Orville, no! If you’re too rough you’ll hurt the babe!” She squirmed as he tore the rest of her clothing.
“Then-don’t-fight-me,” he panted, pushing her onto the bed. Molly lay quietly, her tears streaming as Derrick removed his coat. When he began unbuttoning his shirt, she removed the pins from her hair, shaking it loose.
“See? I’m not fighting you…” she quaked as he sat on the bed. “…I just don’t want you to be angry.”
Leaning over, Derrick stroked her face. “I’m no longer cross with you, my dear,” he said, his fingers entwining her hair. “But I have a plan, and I must be assured you’re going to help me.” He studied her lips before lowering his mouth, capturing her lower lip between his teeth. He nipped the tender skin, tasting a drop of blood before kissing her slowly.
“So,” he said, raising his gaze, “do I have your word you’ll do exactly as I ask?”
“Y-yes,” she whispered. “I promise to do exactly as you say.”
“That’s a good girl,” he said. “Because if all goes well, you and I will be rich beyond our wildest dreams.”
Molly looked wonderingly into his face. “You…and me? We’ll be together…no longer here, at the saloon?”
“If you play your cards right,” he said, moving above her. “You’ll be a lady of leisure and beholden to no one, but me.”
“Do you promise?” she asked, searching his face. Since discovering her pregnancy, she desired nothing more than security for herself and the child.
“As surely as my name is Orville Farnsworth,” Derrick said as he positioned himself between her thighs. “You’ll share in all my wealth when my mission is complete.”
“Oh, Orville,” Molly breathed. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted!”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
George Bruester arrived at his office and began sorting through the day’s receipts when he heard a knock at the door.
“Excuse me, Mr. Bruester,” the bank secretary said, entering. “Mr. Schuyler would like a word with you.”
“Certainly,” George replied. Lucian Schuyler had been his bookkeeper for more than twenty years and as far as George knew, never missed a day of work.
When Lucian entered, George indicated a chair. “Have a seat, Mr. Schuyler.”
“Thank you,” Lucian said.
“How’s your family?” George asked. “I understand your grandson is about to enter college. You must be very proud.”
Lucian nodded while he repositioned his spectacles. “Very proud, indeed.”
“So, what can I do for you?”
“Due to foul weather, we were late in receiving a batch of outstanding cheques from the bank’s private account.” Lucian opened his folder and removed a cheque. “Out of all the receipts, this one caught my attention.” He leaned forward and extended the document. “Although it bears your signature, it seems different. Also, I cannot find a corresponding entry in our ledgers.”
George took the draft. “The recipient is Orville Farnsworth,” he said. “Have we ever done business with the man? That name is unfamiliar to me.”
“None that I could discover, sir. I took the liberty of going back several years to see if he appeared on our archives and found no such name.”
George turned his attention to the cheques’ signature. Although it was his name, the penmanship wasn’t. The writer must’ve been familiar with his handwriting, however, for he had done a fair job of imitating the distinctive script.
“It seems we have a thief
in our midst,” George said, leaning back. “I’m sorry to say, I didn’t write this cheque. You were very observant to catch the discrepancy.”
Lucian allowed a modest smile. “Thank you, Mr. Bruester. But after all these years, I’ve become intimately familiar with your signature.”
“I suppose we’ll need to take a handwriting sample of every employee since this cheque was obviously removed from my desk.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll inform Mr. Spelding at once.”
“No need. I’ll do that myself.” George paused, deep in thought. “By the way, where did the draft get cashed, Mr. Schuyler?”
“In Turnersville, sir.”
“Pennsyl-vania? Good God, he crossed the state line?”
“Yes sir,” Lucian said. “That’s why it took so long for the cheque to get back to us.”
“It seems our thief isn’t so stupid, after all. I believe we might need the help of a private investigator,” he said as he wrote some notes. “Orville Farnsworth may’ve been smart enough to steal my money, but he made a mistake thinking I’ll let him get away with it.” He stood, placing the forged cheque into his pocket. “Let’s see if my friends at Simon and Helfrich can help in our probe.” George grinned. “Between you and me, I’d say Orville Farnsworth hasn’t got a prayer!”
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Molly stood on a path that ran alongside Old Mill Road, near Cantonsville. After questioning a few lumbermen who frequented the saloon, she discovered this was the road Reagan Burnsfield took each morning to the mill. She smoothed her skirt as she waited. The bright yellow dress, patterned with dots had caught her eye while displayed in the dressmaker’s window. The seamstress had assured her the pleated silk would certainly be noticed and with its high cut waist, her pregnancy well hidden. She’d chosen a black silk jacket with magenta piping, leaving the front undone to show the snug-fitting bodice. Of late, her bosom had filled out and the tight fit caused her breasts to ache uncomfortably. That morning she had frizzed her bangs and kohled her eyes before applying a small amount of rouge and a light shade of pink to her lips. With her hair curled under her ribboned hat, it was the closest she’d ever come to appearing attractive.
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